


Grand Arena

by lanri



Series: Unseen [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AHBL, AU, Blindness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s at a disadvantage, and this time there’s no escaping that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sammy, boy. So nice to see you again.”

Sam looked around, startled to find he could see, and tried to call out to Jake and the others, but they didn’t respond.

“Just us, Sam, you’re still asleep. Let’s talk, shall we?”

“What do you want?” Sam snarled, even as he reveled in being able to see in the dream. Apparently Ava had dark hair and Jake was African American.

The demon’s eyes sparked yellow. “Big things going down, here. This here’s a showdown. Pitting all the psychics against each other.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam asked suspiciously, looking around and memorizing his surroundings. The others had never described where they were, and Sam didn’t have Dean with him to let him know where obstacles were, so he had to take this chance if he wanted to survive.

“Oh yes. You, Sammy . . . You’re an interesting case.”

“Why’s that?” Sam noted the direction out of the ghost town before sliding his gaze over to the demon.

“At first, you were my favorite. Then there was that unfortunate hunting accident. I mean, blind psychic. It’s rather cliche, but it wasn’t supposed to be true.” The demon paused, looking Sam up and down in a way that had him cringing. “But somehow you’ve survived, even flourished with the disability.”

“What’s your point?” Sam snapped.

“The point is, without giving in to your powers, you won’t last an hour,” the demon said calmly. “So. You have an option here, Sam Winchester. Give in to those powers that are hidden below the surface, or die.”

“I don’t know what power you’re talking about, but the visions don’t exactly listen to what I want,” Sam said flatly.

The demon cocked its head. “Shall I show you something?”

Sam blinked, and they were in a new location. “Wha—”

“Meet yourself as a baby.”

Sam looked in horror as the demon slit its wrist above a baby’s—his—mouth.

“I have demon blood in me?” he asked, voice filled with revulsion.

“Indeed. Powerful stuff. If you wanted, you could have telekinesis. You could see things before they happened, the entire event and change it to your will. So much potential.” The demon crept close, greedily looking at Sam. “So choose wisely.”

Sam watched as a woman entered the room—blonde hair that reminded him of Jess.

“Is that . . .”

“Your mother? Yes.”

“You,” she whispered, looking at the demon over Sam’s crib.

“She knew you?” Sam asked, choked.

“Details.” The demon smiled at Sam, like he was his parent. “Well, Sam m’boy. Good luck.”

Sam woke up.

* * *

Andy wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t.

Okay, he was. He had been having a great day, just, well, using illegal drugs, but it wasn’t like he would ever be busted with his ability to convince people.

But this little game some demon was playing with them . . . not cool.

“Andy, you here?”

Andy turned around and relaxed at the sight of Sam tapping his way over with the iron poker. “Hey, Sam,” he greeted.

“Just had the craziest dream,” Sam murmured, his cane finally hitting the chair. He sank down into it with a sigh of relief.

“Yeah. Um, I kinda did too.”

“The demon?” Sam checked.

“Yeah.”

“Stupid, right? Like we would kill each other.” Sam’s smile was easy, and Andy felt himself relaxing even more.

“Honestly I only want to go back home.”

“You and me both.” Sam reached out a hand, and Andy took it. Sam’s grip was strong and sure. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? You’ll go back to terrorizing innocent civilians with weird images, and I’ll go back to Dean.”

Andy blinked, then. “Wait. Do you have something of Dean’s?”

Sam rummaged through his pockets. “This?” He held up an old receipt.

“I can contact people, if I know where we are and have something of theirs to focus on,” Andy explained excitedly. “I’ll just be able to show him an image, but it might work.”

“Then do it,” Sam said urgently. “Have you seen anything indicative of where we are? Any landmarks?”

“There’s the bell, outside. Can’t be many of those anywhere,” Andy suggested.

Sam nodded. “Send him the image of the bell.”

Andy glanced down at the receipt and decided to not mention that the signature wasn’t exactly Dean’s. He concentrated, sending a dual image of Sam and the bell to what he hoped was Dean’s mind.

“It’s done,” he announced, absently wiping away the blood trickling from his nose. “I think.”

Sam’s smile was relieved. “That’s great, Andy.”

“Guys, Ava’s gone.”

At Jake’s voice, Andy noted how Sam jumped and then settled again.

“Right. Andy, stay here. Jake and I’ll search her out.”

“Wouldn’t it be smarter for you to stay?” Jake said drily.

Sam hesitated, and then nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

Andy headed out, glad to be doing something other than sitting.

Ava’s laugh was the only warning he got before he was torn apart.

* * *

“Jake, what’s wrong?” Sam asked urgently. There should have been three sets of footsteps returning. Instead there was only him.

“Ava . . . she was doing something. Controlling a . . . a demon. She killed Andy. I . . . I killed her.”

Sam stood, finding his balance quickly. “Show me,” he said urgently.

Jake led the way, and Sam relied on his memories of the dream to keep himself from tripping up.

“Did you two separate?” he asked.

“Yeah. Not by much, I went inside one of the houses while he checked around back. I found her there, standing over him.”

Sam swallowed. “And there was no hope of saving Andy?”

“Nah, man. Sorry.”

Sam dropped to his knees in the mud, letting his hands hover over Andy’s body. “I’m sorry,” he murmured brokenly. No matter what he did—Max, Ansem, Lily, Andy—he couldn’t save anyone.

“Sam, you know what the demon said to me?”

Sam sat back on his heels. “Probably what he said to me,” he surmised.

“We’re not getting out of here. Only one can.”

“Why can’t we both?” Sam argued. “Ava was obviously the one who stopped Lily from leaving. Now that she’s dead, we can get out of here.”

“I don’t think so, man.”

Sam stood. “You saying you’re gonna kill me?” He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, preparing for a fight.

“I don’t want to. But I will if I have to.”

Sam had little to no warning as a fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking the breath from him. He felt the air move towards his head, and quickly ducked, diving forward to ram into Jake.

“I don’t want to do this, Jake,” he hissed as he struggled. Jake got a hand on Sam’s arm and twisted violently, ripping a cry from Sam’s throat. The distinctive popping noise meant his shoulder joint was out of its socket.

“I don’t either, Sam. But I’m winning this. And you won’t stop me.”

Sam lashed out towards the sound of Jake’s voice, catching the man in the jaw. Moving as fast as he could, he scrambled to get as far away as possible. He had mislaid his iron poker, so he was pretty much defenseless. If he could just find Dean—

A flare of pain in the middle of his back flashed through Sam in one, two, three waves. And then he was gone.

* * *

The Impala would not go fast enough. Dean caught Bobby’s worried glance but ignored it. The image of Sam and the bell—Bobby had identified it as being in Cold Oak—had been a gift Dean wasn’t willing to look into yet.

They arrived, and Dean practically flew out of the car before it had completely stopped, Bobby following with some words of caution that Dean completely ignored.

Sam would be there, he would hear Dean and grin in his direction like he always did, and everything would be fine.

The town was forebodingly quiet. Dean scanned the empty dirt streets before shouting. “Sam! Sammy!”

His voice echoed but elicited no response.

“Dean, maybe the bell meant something else,” Bobby suggested.

Dean muttered some curses and jogged forward through the streets. He was just about to turn and check a house when he caught a flash of tan. The jacket Sam had been wearing.

Something inside Dean went numb, dead, even as he vibrated with fear. There were three bodies, but he ignored the other two.

“Sammy!” he roared. He dropped down beside his little brother and swallowed, taking in the sight of dark blood on Sam’s back.

He turned Sam over.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he chanted, patting Sam’s mud-coated cheek, pressing his fingers against Sam’s throat in search of a pulse. It couldn’t end like this. Sam couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.

“Dean?”

“C’mon, Sam, you can’t do this to me. Wake up,” Dean pleaded, not even caring that he was making a scene in front of Bobby. Sam’s head lolled as Dean shook him, and Dean felt something snap.

Dean howled. He vaguely heard Bobby’s worried assurances and attempts to draw him away from Sam, but he just clutched Sam’s . . . Sam’s body. Sam was dead.

Dean had cried after his father’s death. Silently, in the shower, tears blending with the shower water so that he could pretend he wasn’t.

But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not Sammy. Dean sobbed out his grief like the tears could bring Sam back.


	2. Chapter 2

He knew what he was planning on doing was wrong. He wasn’t stupid. This would rip Sam apart, and it wasn’t fair, but Dean was past fair.

“Sorry,” he whispered to his brother’s corpse. “But I can’t let you die.”

“How’s little Sammy?” The demon’s eyes flashed red as the vessel’s mouth curved into a cruel smile.

“Shut up,” Dean snarled. “You know why I’m here.”

“That’s right. You want to bring Sammy back.”

Dean wanted to snap at her to stop calling him that, but he couldn’t do anything that might cost him the chance. “Well? Bring Sam back, and in ten years you yank me down to hell.”

The demon smirked. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

Dean tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Nice try, but no. This is messing with one of Azazel’s kiddos. You get one year, and you get Sam back.”

Dean swallowed. “But he needs me.”

The demon shrugged, her vessel’s delicate white shoulders shifting her dress. “Well, nice dealing with you.” She turned away.

Dean closed his eyes in defeat. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“One year,” he croaked.

“We have a deal.”

“Can you at least give Sam’s sight back?” Dean pleaded.

“So pathetic. No, Dean. Sam comes back to life, you get one year, that’s it, nothing else. And you do anything to try and get out of your deal, and Sam’s a rotting corpse again.”

“Deal.” Dean kissed her and tasted sulfur.

* * *

Sam shifted and pain flared up, sharp and biting. He groaned, fighting the feeling of disorientation and dizziness. Happened every time he woke up someplace new, no big deal.

Except the last time he had woken up in a new place, he had been thrust into the demon’s game. And Jake had . . . Jake had stabbed . . .

Sam sat up with a gasp, a brutal flash of pain in his back and his shoulder deterring him slightly.

“Jake?” he tried.

Nobody. Nothing. Sam shivered, reaching around with his good arm and trying to feel his back. He could’ve sworn—

“Sammy?”

“Dean,” Sam stood up, reaching out for his brother, feeling all of five years old again, or thirteen, when he had been blinded. “Dean, I don’t underst—”

The crushing hold his brother suddenly had on him had Sam whiting out for a moment with pain before he gasped enough that Dean noticed.

“Sorry, Sam, you’re just . . . You’re okay. I promise, you’re okay.” Dean’s hands were petting his hair and his face, frantic-like.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam bewilderedly tried to calm his older brother down. “Relax, alright?”

Dean’s laugh sounded suspiciously wet, and Sam froze as Dean actually kissed his forehead and pressed him close again, gently this time.

“Dean?” he tried.

“Sorry, Sam. It was really . . . it was really close this time, Sammy.”

Sam let his head rest on his brother’s shoulder and breathed in deeply. “Sorry. I did my best, but Jake got the better of me.”

“That the guy who stabbed you?”

Sam nodded against the leather of Dean’s jacket. “Almost got the upper hand, but he got me in the back.” He could’ve sworn Dean shuddered. “I don’t know how I’m alive, the place where he stabbed me—”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam.” Dean’s voice was too sharp and too frantic, and that immediately set every single ‘look out for Dean’ sensor Sam had off. He thought about calling Dean on it, but decided to spare his brother that trouble, for now. They had bigger fish to fry.

“Dean, put my shoulder back in,” he commanded. “The demon’s planning something big, that’s what this was all about.”

His brother was silent for a moment, enough that Sam tentatively said his brother’s name, and then without warning, his humerus was shoved back into place. Sam yelled, coming back to himself after a couple seconds in which the pain from his shoulder outweighed the pain in his back.

“Easy, Sammy. You’re fine, now. Deep breaths, okay?”

Sam used his good arm to reach up and grab at Dean’s shoulder, spastically clenching his fingers as he rode out the pain. “I thought I’d never get to be with you again,” he admitted breathlessly. “So friggin’ useless on my own.”

As close as Dean was, Sam could hear him swallow, which was normally a tell for him feeling guilty or unwilling to say something. Before he could ask, Dean had already cut him off. “C’mon Sammy, we’ve got to get to Bobby.”

* * *

As awful as everything was, Dean couldn’t help but feel at peace. Sam was alive. Everything else took second place to that.

That was, if Sam wouldn’t get himself killed a second time.

“Dean, are we almost there?”

“Yeah, Sam. Look, maybe you should sit this one out?”

Sam’s face twisted. “Why, ‘cause I’m a little sore? This guy nearly killed me, Dean. We have to stop him.”

“Bobby and Ellen’ll be with me. You could just . . . hang back, y’know?” Dean suggested.

“No, Dean. I’m in the fight with you,” Sam replied strongly. “I know I’m a liability, but you don’t have to worry about me, I’ll pull my own weight.”

“That’s not—it was just a really close one, okay? I can’t . . .” Dean swallowed. “I can’t go through that again.”

He glanced at Sam and saw his brother’s face soften. “You won’t. It was a fluke, I was by myself. We’ll stick together.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. “One way or another.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the graveyard. Dean took a shuddering breath.

“You sure you can’t wait this one out?” he pleaded.

Sam reached out, his hand unerringly finding Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s do this, Dean.”

Both Bobby and Ellen gave Dean narrowed glances—Bobby especially, since he knew what deal Dean had made—but took Sam’s preparation in without a comment.

“Chances are, if Jake’s working for the demon, he has tapped into the full powers, now,” Sam said suddenly, as if he’d just thought of it.

“So? We go up against supernaturally-powered guys all the time,” Ellen said.

“One of them—” Sam swallowed, and Dean remembered the other bodies with a jolt. Had one of them been Andy or Ava, the ones Sam had wanted to save? “—could influence people’s thoughts. Control them, just with a few words. You three should wear earplugs.”

Dean scowled. “Then how am I supposed to hear you?”

Sam, the idiot, grinned at him. “I’m the blind, one, remember? Just keep your eyes open, big brother.” He took his cane from Dean and loaded his gun. “Y’all ready?”

Bobby grumbled a little, but dug in his bag and passed out earplugs.

“Good luck,” Ellen said, before plugging her ears.

“Sam, c’mon, just hold onto me, okay?” Dean placed his hand on the cane over Sam’s. “Please?”

Sam frowned, almost seeming to look at Dean with the amount of concentration in his face. “After this, we’re talking,” he said slowly, allowing Dean to take the cane and clip on the straps. He slung it over Sam’s head so that the cane was resting on his brother’s back, Sam taking his elbow as usual, left hand holding his gun, while Dean held his own in his right.

They reached the center of the graveyard and found Jake, who stared at Sam with unabashed shock.

Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Sam cocked his head, listening to Jake before responding something.

Sam suddenly raised his gun, pointing it directly at Jake, firing without warning. Jake sank to the ground, face open with surprise and pain.

Dean yanked the earplugs out of his ear, gaping at Sam. “Sammy?”

Sam was trembling minutely, his hand on Dean’s arm clenching spastically. “He was going to open the devil’s gate. Let out all of them.”

Dean swallowed. “You did good. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

“I’ve got the Colt, let’s go.” Bobby shoved the Colt into Dean’s hands and shepherded them away.

* * *

By the time they pulled away in the Impala, Sam was shuddering. Delayed shock. It couldn’t be true. It just . . .

“Jake said something,” he blurted out.

“Yeah?” Dean’s tone was a strange mix of nervous and cautious.

“He killed me. I was dead. As in the not moving, no pulse kind of dead.” Sam swallowed, sitting forward and feeling his back. “What did you do?”

“I, nothing,” Dean said weakly.

Sam spat out a curse, twisting and wincing in pain. “Stop lying.”

“I made a deal,” Dean admitted. “I had to, Sammy, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t, you couldn’t . . .”

“How long?” Sam cut through his babbling.

“A year.”

Sam cursed, low and hard for a good half-minute before burying his face in his hands. How could he? For Sam? A year, and Dean was going to Hell.

Not if Sam could help it.

“I’m getting you out of it.” Sam said sharply. “You hear me?”

“I hear you.” Dean sucked in a breath. “The demon said that I try and get free, you’re dead, though.”

“Did she say that I couldn’t get you free?” Sam checked.

Dean muttered. “Not exactly, but Sam . . .”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam gripped his knee tightly, riding out the pain and the horror.

By the time they got back to Bobby’s, Sam was completely nauseous, and Dean had only just parked the car and Sam was stumbling out, before bending in half and throwing up his guts and hoping he was missing his shoes.

“Easy, Sammy, c’mon,” Dean begged helplessly, getting one hand on Sam’s shoulder, the other on his forehead.

“You can’t,” Sam choked out. “You can’t go to Hell. Not for me.”

Dean herded Sam indoors in silence.

“Sam, you need to take a shower. You have . . . you have blood on you. On your clothes.”

Sam felt detached and empty inside. Maybe he was still dead, and Dean’s deal was for nothing.

“C’mon.” Dean manipulated him, and Sam let himself be stripped down and moved into the shower. The water running down his face was half salty, half not. “Hey, Sammy, it’s not the end of the world.” Dean always talked when he was nervous. “Even if I don’t get out of it, you still have Bobby.” Dean’s fingers ran through his hair, washing out the dirt there.

“Don’t,” Sam choked out. “Not now.”

Dean fell silent, guiding Sam out of the shower and toweling him off, getting Sam into his boxers. His hand lingered over the source of most of Sam’s pain—the middle of his back. A strange noise came from his mouth, and Sam reared back with the knowledge that Dean, Dean who hated showing emotions—was crying. He fumbled his fingers up to Dean’s face, and his brother didn’t turn away, allowing Sam to feel the wetness of his brother’s cheeks.

“Dean,” he said helplessly, and made an involuntary movement that Dean apparently interpreted as an invitation, and his arms were around Sam for the second time in a very short period of time.

“Almost lost you, Sammy,” he whispered.

Sam tightened his fingers in Dean’s t-shirt. “Don’t make me lose you,” he whispered back.

But Dean had no reply.


End file.
